


Centimeters

by squidmemesinc



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Thigh Worship??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3491615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi has a love-hate relationship with Bokuto's ridiculous kneepads.</p><p>Maybe it's more on the 'love' side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Centimeters

**Author's Note:**

> Daze told me those "leggings" Bokuto wears are actually just long kneepads? This fic was her idea. I stole it because I'm a thief and I figured (hopefully correctly) that she wouldn't mind if I wrote it.
> 
> And it kind of got away from me, so there's porn. Whoops.

It’s just a couple centimeters. When Bokuto jumps to spike his toss, that’s all Keiji ever sees. A couple of goddamned centimeters between those ridiculously high-reaching kneepads and the hem of his shorts. A couple of blessed centimeters of tan skin stretched over finely-toned muscle, for no more than a second, and then it’s gone.

He has a love-hate relationship with those kneepads.

Sometimes, he watches Bokuto putting them on in the locker room. They just keep sliding for _years_ , it seems, up his ridiculously long legs. His fingers, gripping each side of the kneepad, ruck up his shorts a little when he gets them into position. Sometimes his shorts get caught in them, and he plucks at them until they come free. Then the skin is hidden under two overlapping layers. Keiji always hopes for glimpses, but often, from where he is on the court, it’s impossible. Even if it weren’t, they have a status to uphold; the team counts on him being present in the game, not under Bokuto’s shorts.

After games, after practices, though, he’s allowed to let his mind wander. He’s always been quiet. Bokuto The Great Distractor is always acting as his foil, talking (yelling) about anything and everything to anyone who will listen and even those who won’t. He’s able to sink into his thoughts. He imagines slipping his fingers under the hem of the shorts, just ghosting across those top few centimeters at the densest part of his thighs. He thinks about the tips of his fingers creeping under the high edge of the kneepads, pushing them down just slightly, feeling the warmer skin beneath them. He can almost feel what it would be like to have him squirm under his teeth, scraping lightly, biting harder.

It’s driving him mad.

**X**

Bokuto probably didn’t notice, but he pulled his shorts up just a tiny bit higher today than he usually does.

Keiji notices.

It must be only a centimeter more, but that tantalizing skin is catching Keiji’s eye every time Boktuo jumps, sometimes just a sliver appearing when he dashes across the court. His center of vision seems to be gravitating right at the upper edge of Bokuto’s kneepads, and the squeaking of sneakers on the gym floor isn’t doing what it usually does to bring him back to his senses.

He misses a toss. The ball comes right to him, but he’s watching Bokuto, preparing to jump, trusting that he’ll bring the ball to him, and it comes down right on his head with his arms stretched out above him.

“Akaashi! Are you okay?”

Keiji blinks, trying to get his vision back, holding the spot on his head where the ball hit with both hands. “I need some water,” he says.

The coach calls for a five minute break.

**X**

Keiji lingers in the locker rooms. It’s not just that his shorts were higher today, it’s just that Keiji’s feelings are getting stronger. It’s only going to get worse from here if he doesn’t do something about it, so he decides to do something about it.

“Bokuto-san, could I get a word with you?”

“Huh? Oh, sure, Akaashi!” Bokuto hangs back from the rest of their team. He stands before Keiji in the locker room, where it smells like sweat and dirt and volleyball. Keiji’s never minded that smell. It’s his smell, as well as Bokuto’s. Here is good.

“Bokuto-san, what do you think of me?”

He puts his hands on his hips, swells with confidence, smiles as he says, “Well you’re a great friend of course! And a great setter too!”

Keiji nods once. “Do you like me?”

Bokuto’s smile wavers and his elbows sag. “What do you mean? Of course I do.”

“How much do you like me?” Keiji presses.

He looks uncharacteristically nervous at Keiji’s question. His arms drop completely to his sides and Keiji notices him smoothing his palms against his pants, as if they’re sweating. He still smiles, but the confidence is gone, and it’s replaced with nervousness. “Akaashi, I—”

“Would you date me, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto’s eyes snap open, his mouth quirks into a little sideways ‘o,’ and he stills his hands. “Huh?”

“I like you,” Keiji says. His face is a little warm, but for the most part, he’s not embarrassed. He holds the strap of his bag firmly in his hand, his other hand at his side.

And the other boy suddenly jumps forward to hug him. “Akaashiiiii!” he wails, and for a moment, Keiji can’t tell if it’s a happy or sad cry. His confusion is cleared when Bokuto pulls back and presses a firm, short kiss on his lips before burying his face in Keiji’s shoulder again.

**X**

Two weeks later, Keiji is shoving Bokuto up against the lockers.

“A-Akaashi?” Bokuto’s not used to the calm setter acting so flustered.

Keiji fists his hands in Bokuto’s jersey and steers him over to the benches, forcing him to drop heavily onto one. He sinks down in front of him, between his legs. ‘ _Don’t get changed,_ ’ he’d said as they were coming into the locker rooms. He’s been waiting too long for this.

“Akaashi, are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer. He pushes Bokuto’s knees apart. _So close, his hands are so close_. Keiji wants to take it slow, so he doesn’t move for a minute, eyes focused on his left hand, feeling the thick nylon of the kneepads under his fingertips. He presses his fingertips into them, sliding his hands forward slowly, angling his nails down so the short tips scrape against the fabric. His heart is pounding, he’s wanted to do this for so long and now it’s actually happening. Bokuto’s letting him touch him.

His fingers reach the edge of his shorts, and he pushes right on underneath them. The very tips are touching Bokuto’s skin, which is warm and slightly tacky from sweat. He lets the shorts bunch over his hands, feeling a thrill when he sees skin in the gaps between his fingers. Keiji licks his lips, hears Bokuto swallow.

“Akaashi…”

He moves both hands over to one thigh, holding the shorts against the crease of Bokuto’s leg with one hand while the other rests on the top of the kneepad. The skin he’s sought after is bared right before him, and he brings his mouth down to it, closing on it with his lips. Bokuto seems to be holding his breath. It’s deadly quiet in the locker room; the only sound is a quiet drop of water into a sink that someone didn’t turn off right.

Keiji breathes in the heavy scent of Bokuto’s sweat, tastes its tang on his tongue as he flicks it over his thigh. He closes his mouth a little, bringing his teeth into contact with the skin, scraping them lightly as he drags down, just as he always wanted to. Bokuto shifts. It probably tickles. So Keiji bites him, suddenly and hard, and Bokuto _jumps_ , banging his head loudly against the back of the lockers, causing an echo.

Keiji is surprised by the noise and jerks back. “Sorry,” he says, quietly, but insistent. He looks down, then back up.

Bokuto is smiling the same nervous smile he had when Keiji had confessed to him. “No, don’t be! I was just surprised. I was, uh, kind of enjoying it.” He chuckles a little.

Keiji’s hand is still pinning Bokuto’s shorts to his thigh, so when Bokuto shifts his hips, he notices. He glances towards his hand, or rather, to the right of it, then up at Bokuto, whose face is going red. “Should I stop?” he asks.

Bokuto gives a small shrug, tilts his head to the side. “N-No… Well, if you want. If it…bothers you.” He shifts his hips again, angling his erection away from Keiji.

Keiji moves his hand over and _presses_. The other boy stiffens (in more ways than one). “Ah!” His smile melts into something a little strained, as if he’s trying to restrain himself.

Keiji adjusts his legs so he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. He moves his palm in circles over Bokuto’s cock, watching his face with interest as he bites his lip, feeling the slight pressure as he starts to roll his hips against Keiji’s hand.

Bokuto looks like he could be satisfied with just this, but Keiji isn’t. He moves his hands again to grip Bokuto’s shorts at the hips and tugs at them. The other’s eyes snap open and his face looks a little nervous.

“Lift your hips up,” Keiji orders.

Bokuto swallows again. “Akaashi—”

“This is fine. Lift your hips.”

He complies, and after some careful maneuvering, Keiji manages to get the shorts over one of his sneakers so they’re just hanging off his other foot. He is now face to face with Bokuto’s cock, finding himself almost as eager to touch it as he was to touch Bokuto’s thighs. He wraps a hand around the base, loosely sliding his hand up and over it, moving his thumb across the wet tip. He kind of wants to taste…

Bokuto sucks in another breath when Keiji leans forward and takes his head into his mouth. He slides his tongue over the slit and gathers up the precum on his tongue, but finds it doesn’t have all that much of a taste. It’s kind of got the consistency of hand soap, and maybe the flavor is something like the way metal might taste. There’s the same tang of sweat he’d had when he’d bitten his thigh, but Keiji likes it. He moves his mouth down, keeping one hand wrapped around the base and the other resting on his thigh. He still hasn’t forgotten Bokuto’s thighs. He gives it a squeeze.

Bokuto finally lets out the breath he’s been holding. Keiji hears his fingers squeak against the polished wood of the bench. Once he’s down as far as he can go, he gives a hard suck.

“Oh!” Bokuto exclaims. His hips jerk a little, but Keiji manages not to choke. “S-Sorry Akaashi.” Keiji squeezes his thigh and rubs his thumb along the underside of his cock, swallowing, which makes Bokuto groan. His fingernails scratch across the kneepad, then move on soft pads up to the skin above them as he moves his mouth, keep a steady pressure.

“Jeez…” The other boy’s breath is hitching slightly, and he makes quiet little noises, twitching slightly into Keiji’s mouth. He starts to leak more, and Keiji swallows it, eliciting more moans and deeper movements from his hips. Keiji moves his hand off Bokuto’s dick and grabs his hand, placing it on top of head before gripping him again. Bokuto sighs and rubs at his hair fondly, being careful not to press on him. Keiji finds himself thinking Bokuto, despite his usual bravado, seems to be a remarkably careful lover.

He pulls off to lick a long stripe up the side of his cock, sucking on it from the side, using just the tiniest scrape of his teeth that makes Bokuto keen and whine. He’s been growing harder and harder himself, so finally he pulls his hand away from Bokuto’s thigh and slips it under the waistband of his own shorts, giving himself solid strokes before taking Bokuto into his mouth again. He wishes he had more hands; he’s quiet himself, but he likes hearing Bokuto make these little noises. He imagines what he could do if he could manage to also push his fingers up under his shirt, grab his ass, massage his balls.

Keiji smooths his tongue over Bokuto’s head before edging it under the ridges that join it to the shaft, feeling liquid leak out of the side of his mouth that could be either precum or saliva or a mixture of the two. He glances up to Bokuto’s flushed face. He likes seeing him come a little unraveled like this. It’s probably his first time doing something like this. It’s Keiji’s too, but he’s imagined touching Bokuto so many times it feels like this is the only natural course of action. Bokuto’s fingers press into his skull as he tightens his grip, and his arm seems to be shaking, but he still doesn’t push.

“A—kaashi…” Bokuto says, a little desperately. “Ah… Mm…” Keiji takes the strain in his voice as a hint that he’s close, sucks harder, strokes himself a little more firmly, twists his hand around the portion he can’t fit in his mouth. His hips have settled into a gentle roll that he’s determined won’t trigger Keiji’s gag reflex, though it does grow a little jerkier. He wants to make Bokuto come, and he knows he can if he just holds out a little longer.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto says again a minute later. His fingers are gripping a handful of Keiji’s hair. Keiji looks up at him again, still moving his mouth. Bokuto’s eyes are shut tight, and he’s biting his lip again. When he releases it, he groans, hips rolling erratically against Keiji’s hand, bumping into his reddened lips. “I’m gonna… You have to—! _Ahh!_ ”

Keiji purposefully doesn’t heed his warning, greedy to taste more of him, sucking as hard as he can until he feels Bokuto spill into his mouth. He swallows three times before it seems to stop, then once more for good measure, pulling off finally with a wet pop.

He closes his eyes and rests his head on Bokuto’s thigh while works his own hand on his painfully hard dick as Bokuto pants, brushing his cheek with calloused fingers. “Akaashi, you look so good like this,” he whispers. It might be the quietest Keiji has ever heard him, the gentlest. He bites back a moan as he feels himself pushed over the edge, and he’s shaking a little as he moves his hand furiously.

He makes a mess of his pants, but he doesn’t care; he still hasn’t changed out of his practice clothes, and he still has his uniform. He notices after a bit that he’s still got his cheek pressing against the rough material of Bokuto’s kneepad, and his eyes are still closed. He blearily pulls back and opens them.

Bokuto is looking down at him, suddenly restored to his former, bubbly self. “You’re really good at that!”

He goes a little red.

But he got what he wanted, and more, so it’s okay.


End file.
